


Flickering

by howlingstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Gore, Clubbing, Comfort, Death, Dissociation, Drugged Stiles Stilinski, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eichen | Echo House, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Porn, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Soulmates Gone Wrong, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stalker, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlingstiles/pseuds/howlingstiles
Summary: Works that are paused or I can't continue for the time being. Feel free to use these wips are prompts, though credit is due.Each chapter states what the ship is and the general theme. The author's note for the chapter will say the warnings.





	1. Stargent | Soulmates Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Kidnapping, Can Be Seen As Underage, Non-Con, Insanity 
> 
> _If you believe I should tag more, let me known._

Chris shushes Stiles when he hears the police force coming closer to their hideout. The boy is underneath him, bound arms and legs with a gag in his mouth and tears clinging to his lashes.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Even the defiant fire in his pretty doe eyes has heat stirring low in the pit of Chris' stomach. He's waited for his boy for too long, he isn't about to let the boy's father get between them. Not when the mark on the boy's shoulder is the same as his own. Not when he was made for _him_. He'll burn everyone and everything to the ground before he lets someone take Stiles away from him. He shushes Stiles again when he hears them run past them. A slow smile crossing his face at Stiles' sob. When there aren't any stomping footsteps left, he eases caresses Stiles cheek. 

"Shh, it's okay now. They're gone, we can be together now, Stiles. _You're mine_." Stiles sobs while his shoulder burns at the words of ownership that leave Chris' mouth.

There's no getting out of this.

Stiles deflates and lets Chris pick him up and take him away. He loses consciousness by the time they make it to Chris' car. He's barely aware as he's strapped and cuffed to the backseat. Chris kisses his forehead and whispers, "You're all mine Stiles, nothing is going to tear us apart," against it. It's the last thing he hears and feels before falling unconscious.


	2. Steter | King Peter and his Favorite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Death, Kidnapping, Mild Violence, Mild Gore
> 
> (My second attempt at writing last year. This is terrible and cringe-worthy.)
> 
> _If you believe I missed a tag, let me know._

“King Hale, the Librarian would like a word with you?” Guard Boyd informed King Hale with a subtle roll of his eyes. King Hale noticed but didn’t comment, too busy standing and gathering maps and books to bring to the library where he’ll,  _ hopefully,  _ be for the next few hours. 

The prospect of spending a couple of hours with his little runt brought his tense shoulders relaxing. Ignoring his duties in exchange to gaze at his Librarian, Mieczysław, or Stiles as he prefers to be called, may be the highlight of his day.

Nearly knocking a vase oven in haste to get to Stiles got Peter to calm down, admittedly only slightly,  and slow his pace and movements to something resembling the King his people cherished and feared.

Guards Erica and Isaac snicker quietly to each other, their hands brought to their mouths in a vain attempt in quieting themselves. Derek simply scowled, though there was a twitch of his lips that hinted at a smile. Even Boyd, his trusted emotion blocker cracked a smile at his display.

Huffing, Peter commanded, “I expect no one to bother Me or Stiles for the next few hours unless it’s for the utmost emergency. Understand?” A short glance around showed his guards standing straight and voicing their agreement. With that out of the way, King Hale leaves the throne room and heads to the Library, where a doe-eyed nymph resides.

Striding down the halls Peter feels a sense of pride and smugness watching his servants bow and cower away from him in greeting. His echoing footsteps leaves Peter with the desire of a hunt for prey.

Checking his belongs he misses Stiles sneaking out the doors and walk towards him. Juggling the books around to take stock he halts as the scents of peppermint, citrus, vanilla and musk caress his being and calms his racing steps and mind.

_ Stiles. _

“Need some help there O’King of mine?” Stiles' voice rang in the halls among the cluttering of footsteps as he stepped closer to his King, hands out stretched to take away some books or maps. Stepping around Stiles he threw over his shoulder, “I can handle the information, Stiles. Though I need help with the door.”

Stiles shook his head but went back to the library and held the door open for Peter, snickering as he saw Peter barely keep a book from falling out of his arms. Closing the door with a soft  _ ding _ he moves around Peter halting to grasp onto his arm to drag him to the back of the library, their designated meeting spot is.

Hitting the edge of the table Peter dumps the assortment there, eyes running over shelves and aisle looking for any servants or guest to be ordered out. Taking note of Stiles locking the doors and making his way back to Peter, he too was looking for anyone lagging behind.

Stiles smiles as stops in front of Peter, and that’s all the answer Peter needs before he’s gathering Stiles up in his arms. Rumbles shake his chest when Stiles, chuckling as he does so, tips his head back in submission and for scenting.

“As much as I enjoy these moments with you, my King,” Stiles started out softly as if what he’s going to say next is going to bring a heavy weight onto Peter’s shoulders. Peter tenses and wraps himself around Stiles tighter, already knowing what Stiles is going to tell him. “But I regret to inform you that the Argent Family is now under new leadership.”

Stiles pulled back and brought a hand up to cup Peter’s cheek, thumb stroking absentmindedly. Peter huffed out a deep breath as he let his hands fall and rest around Stiles' waist as he waits for Stiles to finish what he already knows.

Stiles smiles a bit ruefully and leans closer to stare into Peter’s eyes, and let his breath brush against his King’s lips, “Gerard Argent is back. And it appears he’s here to declare war.”  

“We need brute force as the front line, and skilled warriors and archers as second and third.” Stiles discussed with Peter and Derek, the War Commander, over the fighting strategy. He continued to point at the map and ramble out the steps that need to be taken into consideration. 

Peter leaned his hip against the table and shuffled closer to Stiles over time, barely fighting the urge to take the boy and hide him away from the looming threat. His fingers twitch and he stuffed them in his pants pockets, flashing his eyes at Derek when he let out a quiet snicker. Stiles glanced at Derek and narrowed his eyes when a small innocent smile was returned.

“If you guys are going to be babies and make faces behind my back then I guess I’m not needed here anymore.” Stiles huffed and straighten from leaning over the map, stretching and cracking his back in the process. He ignored the winces the werewolves made and gathered up his books and phone.

The boy turned to Peter with a wistful smile on his face, “So… where are you planning on hiding me O’ great King?” Peter smirked and gathered him in his arms. He buried his head in Stiles’ neck and takes his scent in again.  _ Of course, he knew what my intentions were. _

Peter let his breath ghost across the delicate skin of Stiles’ neck, his wolf purring when Stiles shivered and leaned his neck to the side. “You are going to be my quarters and you are going to  _ stay  _ there unless something happens. Erica and Scott will stay with you while we sort everything out. If anything happens, you’ll hear our howls.”

Scott let out a low whine, the reason he isn’t going on the field is because of Allison. Stiles gave him a reassuring smile over Peter’s shoulder, “Hey don’t about it buddy. Everything is gonna be fine, we can watch Star Wars and eat garbage while we wait.” Erica’s smile was all wolf.

“That's the spirit, Stilinski!" Stiles pulled away from Peter to turn on Erica, his cheeks puffed out like an overstuffed chipmunk. He pointed his finger at her and sputtered, eyes narrowed and gleaming.  

“Just because Reinhardt is old doesn’t mean he can’t kick some ass!”

After Peter ordered his tropes to prepare for possible battle he met with Stiles’ dad to discuss the last of their strategies before checking on Stiles one more time before leaving. 

Their footsteps resounded the halls leading to Peter’s personal quarters. He could Stiles telling Erica not to break anything and to  _ give me that pillow back that one is  _ **_mine_ ** . Peter brought his hand up to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to hide the smile that was twitching at his lips. A throaty chuckle startled Peter and he turned back to John, who was watching him with an exasperated-fond look.

“How’s my son, King Peter?” John asked, slowing his steps. Peter tuned in again and listened to the sounds of Stiles and the betas laughing and competing.

“He’s happy John, and comfortable here. Everything he does here is of his own will. Nothing is commanded of him.” The alpha says with a sideways glance at John Stilinski, the man that raised the boy that has become so seeded in Peter’s life and they aren’t even  _ together _ . It’s truly embarrassing, but he refuses to force Stiles into anything. And with the threat of Argent's like now, well Peter wouldn’t be able to focus if he was with Stiles.

John places his hand on Peter’s shoulder and gives a comforting squeeze. “I know Peter, I know. God when he first came here he wouldn’t stop talking about how great of a king you are. And how nice you are,” At that John gives Peter this  _ look _ that leaves him fighting off a flush that he can feel at the tips of his ears. 

_ “ _ I never got to tell you how grateful I am to you, Peter. You may not realize it but you saved my son. When Claudia died…. it was a bad time for both of us. I was too busy wallowing in my own grief that I nearly ignored my son. And when it gotten to the point where  _ Scott  _ couldn’t bring him out, well the only thing I  _ could _ remember was how much Stiles wanted to see the Hale Library. And you had positions open,” John trailed off at that. Expression and scent a confusing mix of swirls as he tried to find the right words to continue.

Swallowing with an audible click to humans, he continued, “When you agreed to let him intern before giving him a final placement there, he was  _ so happy _ Peter. For the first time in  _ months _ , he has something to focus on. Something that’s actually distracting him, letting him heal. And then you didn’t get mad when he overheard you and Derek talking war strategies, instead you listened to him. You took his ideas into consideration. And you let him work with you to make sure your people are safe. What I’m trying to get at here, Peter. Is you gave my son something to believe in, you gave him hope that someone is going to listen to him after spending years being told to shut up. And I will forever be grateful to you.”

John turned and stared into Peter’s eyes, the sincerity in them made Peter uneasy, a good uneasy. “I give you my blessing Peter. Please continue making my son happy. Or I’ll kill you, you hear me?” Peter had to look away from the man, he could hear the words that John wasn’t saying, why he was giving his blessing now of all times.

“You’re going to survive this John, and when this is over… we’ll all sit down and discuss this. I’ve come to respect you John, and I don’t think Stiles would be able to live if you died.” Peter grasped his hand and pull him into a brief hug. Pulling back and giving John a tight-lipped smile, Peter turned and opened the door and narrowly avoided dropping Stiles. Stiles gave him a shining grin before moving onto his dad who embraced him fiercely.

Erica and Scott both looked at him mischief in their eyes. Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. Turning back to watch Stiles and his father, he thought crossly,   _Goddamn werewolves_ _and no privacy._

It was a nightmare.

As soon as the Hale Family and army arrived, it was bloodshed.

Body parts littered the ground, pack bonds breaking and fracturing left and right leaving a hollow ache in Peter’s chest. Derek had let out the howl as soon as the first gun shoot went off.

**There wasn’t a reply.**

Peter was off his horse and in battle seconds after flanked by Boyd and Isaac. Peter held an Argent archer at bay while he surveyed the field. Isaac and Scott were together with a couple other Hale warriors, they doing their best to keep the boys alive. Derek was off with Braeden covering her back while she sniped the faraway targets. Boyd was with Cora and they both tag-team the feral werewolves the Argents had let out. Distantly he can see Allison and her father taking out their own people.

_ Well, what do you know, seems like Gerard didn’t convince every one murder is the way after all. _

Peter landed with a crack in the ground and returned to Derek’s side, firing at the soldiers that weren’t in arm range. Derek grazed Peter’s arm and let out a rumble, the king smirked and let out one as well. Before they could pounce on the soldiers charging at them, the Agents called attention to their men. Ordering them to stop where they stand.  

All wolves stand ridged and look towards their king, waiting to see what he was going to do next. The Argents finally made it to the Hale family, their faces pale and grave. Derek and Isaac move to become a near wall between Peter and them.

“King Hale, who’s with Stiles? Where is Stiles?” Allison panted out as she watched her men lower their weapons with obvious confusion on their faces.

"I," Peter swallowed, "I don't know."


	3. Steter | Murder Husbands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Questionable Morals, Insanity, Psychopathy/Sociopathy, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Stiles Is Not Okay
> 
> _If you think I missed a tag, let me know._

“You must be Stiles.” Stiles deep breaths to stabilize himself. He should have seen it coming, he figured out the Hale fire weeks ago, he wouldn’t come to visit Peter if he didn’t think Derek would come after him if his scent was lingering in the room. All of the murderers were tied to the fire. But he didn’t think Peter would out himself so soon.

He dropped his arm, Derek’s voice was yelling at him to get out, that he was coming. He ended the call. Peter looked amused and calculating when Stiles hung up. His casual lean against the wall was anything but that. He heard faint steps behind him, like a sheep playing wolf. “Jennifer,” Stiles suppressed the smirk that wanted to form at the hitched breath. “Peter and I need to have a chat. Run along.”

Peter looked suspicious, he stood tall and stepped towards him but Stiles wasn’t afraid. He knew what Peter wanted and if he played his cards right he’s going to get it. With Stiles’ help. Jennifer huffed and stepped forward demanding he listens to them and does as they say. He sensed of Derek coming close and played defenseless mouse. He shook and widen his eyes, fingers gripped his phone and he turns to have the wall at his back. He kept eye contacted with Peter during his facade. He wanted to see if he’ll understand what Stiles is trying to do. Trying to lure Derek to him to give him the strength he needs to end all of this.

Maybe his mother will finally be avenged.

* * *

Peter held his gaze, eyes going from blind rage to cryptic appreciation. Better than nothing.

Derek played right into their hands. Got Stiles away like he couldn’t do it himself and landed himself in his Uncle’s pack. Now to get Peter alone to discuss what he’s going to get.

Seeing Lydia get pinned to the ground and mauled by Peter should’ve had him running the other way to get help or to save his own ass. Shouldn’t have made him speed up to witness it like a person witness acts at a circus. He tried to reason that getting help would be better beneficial for him, that he wouldn’t draw attention to himself if he was painted as a hero. That his fascination with seeing someone’s demise wasn’t worth not getting what he wants. But by then he was collapsing to his hands and knees across Peter that was crouching over a still, bleeding Lydia and fogging up the air between them with his pants. Peter dragged his eyes up from where his fingers were playing with Lydia’s already blood soaked hair.

Stiles tracked the blood that trailed down Peter’s lips and chin, subconsciously licking his own. Red hues tracked the movement, Peter’s head tilted to the side eerily similar to a dog. Or wolf. Stiles stared at him shocked, his mouth parted in awe when he noticed Peter’s face. It seems like getting a pack bond really can do good for recovering and healing. The burns were gone and a steadiness was now in his movements.

_Good_. Sure the crazed gleam in Peter’s eyes was the same. The same demeanor of a psychopath was still there. But Peter’s beyond repair, and that’s exactly what he needs. “You’re going to tell me where Derek is,” Peter says with the air of someone in complete control. As if.

Stiles spluttered. “How would I know that?” Stiles asked with eyes on Lydia. He may like her for her intelligence and need to make himself normal with liking the hot girl, but he’s a little curious about what it looks like for someone to bleed out. He knew Peter was catching onto him, but there’s camera’s on the field and he needs to be seen as a kid getting himself in danger. Of being afraid to try to save someone.

“Because you’re the smart one aren’t you?” Peter asks leaning close. His breath ghosting onto his face. A shiver went down his spine.

“I-I don’t know where he is! I don’t know how to find him! How would I know how to find him?” Stiles’ heartbeat was calm and steady. He went with the scared little boy act. The look on Peter tells him how well his bullshitting is getting him.

“Did you know deception as a particularly acrid scent?” Peter mused, dragging a claw down Lydia’s face. From temple to jaw a ruby line followed. Stiles' heart stuttered, his breath hitched. “Tell me or I will _rip her apart_.”

Stiles was silent. He avoided Peter’s gaze, he focused on Lydia. On her chest that was _slowly_ rising up and down. “ _Tell me!_ ” Peter roared with teeth bared. Stiles quaked, bitten off whimper escaping and slumped down slightly in submission. Stiles wanted to give Peter all he had coming if he tried to get more out of him. Wanted to remind Peter he wasn’t something to be pulled around like a rag doll. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. It never did. Sociopaths always had goals of their own, and from what he’s heard about Peter. He’s always been one.

“If I help you, I get Lydia help first.” Stiles negotiated. It’d be a pain to leave here with Lydia dying on the field and he being recorded with her.

Peter smiled looking like the cat that caught the canary. Stiles knew it was all over after that.

He stayed on the ground, watching Peter loom him. Watched him stalk closer in the two feet between them. Stiles sucked in a breath and grasped Peter’s wrist to distance himself from the claws Peter firmly pressed under his jaw. Bastard. Blood slowly cascade out, he can feel the slight warm patterns it left on his skin. He followed Peter’s prompt to get to his feet, he doesn’t want to get on his bad side this close to getting his throat torn out. This close to getting what he wants.

“Call your friend,” Peter instructed, he pulled Stiles’ head to the side to watch the blood flow down his neck for a second. His eyes flashed red again. “Tell Jackson where she is. That’s all you get.” Stiles whipped out his phone when Peter stepped away. He jabbed at it with steady fingers. Even with being steady he doesn’t know what it was he sent, didn’t have time to resend something. Peter pulled him off the field before they escaped into the parking lot he heard the gym doors bang open.

* * *

The drive was eventful and when Stiles makes it through the night he actually has information that will help Scott and Lydia, if she turns. His gut clenched at the memory of her body. God he wished he could see the look on Jackson’s face when he saw Lydia on the field. Stiles knew if worst comes to worst tonight he’ll go down swinging and blood stained into his hands. He wonders if he didn’t have ADHD his Dad would’ve suspected him as a sociopath. Maybe he did and just ignored it. He was told on a few memorable occasions the Sheriff’s department would be burned to the ground if it meant it would keep him safe. After all, no sane person goes out to find a half a dead body in the woods for _the_ _hell of it_.

Stiles nearly brains himself when Peter pulls him out of his jeep before he was fully out. Stiles snarled at the back of Peter’s head as he’s dragged on unsteady feet. Peter lets him go when they reach a car on the deserted side of the parking garage. “Whose car is this?” Stiles can’t help but ask when he saw Peter fumble with keys he pulled out his pocket.

“It belonged to my nurse.” Peter murmured as he scanned their surroundings.

Stiles faintly felt what he thinks is dread and definitely amusement. “What happened to your nur- _Oh, my god_!” He looked at the mangled body of Jennifer, the nurse that was a little too creepy in her right. Stiles looked at Peter slack-mouthed again. The heat was beginning to simmer in his stomach and he knows Peter will smell it soon. The mountain ash in his bracelet can only do so much.

“I got better,” Peter said off-handedly. Peter pulled the laptop from under Jennifer’s arm and closed the trunk.  The next few minutes consisted of Stiles evading doing what Peter wanted him to do and Peter slowly losing his cool. He stops when Peter slams him into the laptop and talks about how he can be very _persuasive._ Stiles maybe wants to see what Peter’s like when he loses control.

“You’re gonna kill people, aren’t you?” Stiles asks. His leg is bouncing with his spinning thoughts. Flashes of his Mom’s body lying decapitated a mile from the Hale fire crept in his head. He ground his teeth when the tellings of a panic attack started. _Not now_.

“Only the ones responsible.” The way Peter says that makes Stiles look at him. Peter’s face is earnest, eyes crazed but calming now that Stiles seems to be cooperating. Stiles wants to ask if he’ll kill more if this isn’t enough, he has enough self-preservation to keep that to himself. Stiles runs his fingers along the key buttons thinking about the position Peter’s in. Left alone for six years with nothing but his thoughts and hatred. The memories of his pack dying and being packless, being vulnerable where anyone can get to him while his remaining family lived their lives. Stiles only has his Dad, Scott, and Melissa. If they were to be murdered and their murderers walked free, Stiles would raise hell to bring them to their knees begging for forgiveness. He’s already in the process of doing that for his mother. He knows he’s gonna help Peter, they’re too alike for Stiles to ignore his need for help. Not when Kate is still a threat to him and his remaining family.

But Scott can’t do it, he can’t kill someone. Scott may be willing to kill Peter for a chance at the _cure._ He sneered at that. What was Derek doing trying to convince Scott onto his side like that? But Scott isn’t going to do it, he’ll chicken out and Derek will get what he wanted. There’s no way in hell Stiles is going to live in Beacon Hills if Derek’s the one he’s going to stand with.

“Look, if I do this, you have to promise me to leave Scott out of this,” Stiles said with finality. If he can get Peter to agree to this, he could live the life he’s wanted since he was eight years old. Have an Alpha that’ll understand him and follow through with his advice.

Peter took deep, calming breath. “Do you know why wolves hunt in packs?” His tone was light, condescending. Stiles stayed quiet, he had a feeling he knew where this was going. “It’s because their favored prey is too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I need Derek and Scott.” Peter paused. “I need them both.” _Even if I don’t want them,_ Stiles felt was left unsaid.

He typed in Scott’s username. “His username is Allison?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow. Judgment clear in his voice. Stiles fought a smile and continued to type. “His password is also Allison?” Peter looked like he was starting to rethink entire life for his decision on Scott.

“Still want him in your pack?” Stiles had to make sure. He had to make sure if he was going to do what he’s wanted to do since the bodies of people brought in for the Hale fire started showing up. Peter turned away from him with a clenched jaw.

After Stiles found Derek’s location, the Hale house how ironic, and Peter crushed his keys. Peter stepped forward. “I’m glad you helped me, Stiles. You didn’t even need me to persuade you.” He crept closer. “I like you, Stiles. Would you like the Bite?”

Stiles mentally shook himself. He may be getting what he wants out of this after all. “If it doesn’t kill you, you’ll become like us.”

“Like you.” They’re already so much alike, well, if Peter wasn’t out of his mind.

“You wouldn't be sitting at his side. Watching him get the girl, become popular, make the lacrosse team. You’d be equals.” He maneuvered Stiles’ arm and rested his wrist inches from his lips. “Yes, or no?” Stiles watched as canine teeth grew in place of human teeth. It was weird to see that as the only thing to shift. He jerked away when the brush fang shocked him.

“That’s not what I want.” Peter studied him. Mouth twisted in a snarl. When he saw Stiles wasn’t going to back down he growled.

“And just what do you want, _Stiles_?” Peter grasped his shoulders, fingers digging in until Stiles felt imprints being made. Peter’s hands remained there.

Stiles jutted out his chin. “I want the Argent’s blood on my hands.”


	4. Steter | Stiles dies, Peter is responsible of him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** (Despcirptive) Gore, Death, Murder, Dubious Morals, Slight Non-Con
> 
> _If you think I missed a tag, let me know._

Stiles is dead, a ghost has been for about five hours. He is currently sitting next to his designated to the other side medium, forty-thousand feet in the air. On an airplane. And getting farther and farther away from his corpse and his knowledge of how he died. His medium was looking everywhere but at him, the figure tense and lips thin. Join the club bub, you aren’t the one dead. He looked out the window, it was nighttime, they were over clouds and the stars twinkled around them.   
  
Figures the first time he’s on an airplane and out the country without protection, he’s dead.   
  
His tour guide looked ready to stab himself in the eye. It made the hole where his right eye should be squish.

* * *

Stiles died and became attached to Peter, his medium to help him pass on. While Peter is on an airplane and traveling miles away from his deathbed. The farther away they get, the more Stiles forgets how he died and the more he looks like before he died. His body lost the multiple bullet wounds. Face healed the skin that was sliced off. Right eye turned good as new from being carved out. The left leg appeared inch by inch and by the time they landed a few miles away from Beacon Hills, California his leg was restored. Peter takes to ignoring Stiles when it becomes evident Stiles will only remember he’s dead is at odd hours that are far apart and will only minimal information. Peter thinks traveling all the way back to Poland just for the infuriating twerp to move on is the least of his concerns.   
  
Days, weeks, months pass and Stiles has not been reported dead anywhere on Poland news stations when Peter sets time aside to look into the boy. However, the man Peter later concludes his father from the various pictures he sends out of them is only showed haggard on the edge of falling apart speaking in English, Polish, Swedish, anything that could help him find his son. Peter figures being the prime minister of Poland gives you the kind of power to send a nationwide manhunt for his son or his medium.   
  
He never does this around Stiles. Keeps the boy in the house tucked in bed or the couch, in his art room with paint brushes and pencils made for ghosts, everywhere in the house has been modified for Stiles. While he may look the picture perfect of health, he is dead. His father’s grief is only making this worse. The worst part is Peter grows to like the boy, his wolf demanding he keeps what little he can safe. He’s already dead, what worse can happen?  
  
But, of course, all good things come to an end and Stiles sees his dad on tv one day and remembers *everything*. He goes looks in Peter’s things and finds the countless times Peter has researched him. Watched news channels his dad sat and pleaded for anyone to find his son. Stiles only sees red after that. The shitty thing about all this, Stiles forgot he was dead, never questioned why sunlight burned him so bad or how Peter never let him leave the house, they got along eventually, Stiles even grew to love him. Only to realize he is dead and Peter refused to let him pass on.   
When Peter gets home, he demands and screams at Peter for keeping this from him. Sobbed and threw vases in anger and pain. Peter lets him emotion it out until he collapses and holds him. It   
makes Stiles sobbed even more until he passes out, only mediums can touch the dead.  
  
Peter books them tickets to Poland for the next possible flight and carries Stiles the whole way there. When they arrived Stiles is only halfway a corpse and they realize that his body is nowhere to be found even though Stiles finds his deathbed with ease. Like it’s marked on the back of his hand.  
  
It takes Peter’s senses and contacts to find Stiles’ body cut into pieces scattered around the woods and ocean. His scent has been charmed off the pieces to avoid hounds and other beings from finding them. The more pieces they find, the more Stiles looks like the first time Peter ever saw him. They gather the body, his head found last in a chest in a terrorist camp. Peter rips the whole organization to shreds and is bathed in their blood by the time he is finished. Then finally, finally, Peter takes him to his dad. Who cries and thanks Peter for finally bringing Stiles home to him and cries when he sees what’s become of his only child.   
  
Peter and Stiles kiss the day his body is put in a coffin. Stiles sitting in it and Peter standing next to his love getting ready to pass on. Stiles screams and cries immediately afterward. Noah and Peter watch as Stiles’ body slowly, painfully fuse back together until a breathing, living, tear streaked face Stiles is in the coffin.   
  
Stiles promptly punches him in the face and kisses him for real this time.

 


	5. Nemeton/Stiles | Tentacle Porn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Porn, Descriptive Porn (I think, it's 6 am), Slight Non-Con/Dub-Con, Dissociation
> 
> _If you think I missed a tag, let me know._

A spark sacrifices itself to a nemeton for it’s loved one.

The nemeton replenishes, thrives once again at the notable action.

As thanks for riding it from the horrid being that lived in its deep seeded roots and letting the being into their body, the nemeton invites the spark to its domain to completely remove the void from this plane and let the spark shine as it should.

The air heats and grows with power, vines and roots quake, the nemeton hopes this is an acceptable payment for such a deed that has been made for them.

* * *

He knows he should get help, his body is moving on its own again, the last time that happened he sent a murderer after a student and hide him in the school. Nobody takes his assumptions seriously, he’s human, what can he do? He knows where he’s going. How couldn’t he when he has been walking this path into the ground to the stump for the past weeks? Months?

It’s getting hard trying to remember time these days, trying to remember moments during the days when he sleeps only to wake surrounded by people that don’t notice anything wrong. How whole days are removed from his memory. His friends are too busy dealing with their own side effects to notice the subdued way he acts now. The dark circles marring his face and pale skin whitening every day like a bleaching sheet.

The banshee has noticed but only made a safe space for him to phase back to himself. At least she didn’t blame him for unconsciously contacting murderers to kill classmates.

He worries his parent’s bloodlines contaminated with a forgetting disease that killed off most of his family is coming for him.

But the sacrifices always come to mind when that thought occurs, the presence at the back of his mind goes into a frenzy the closer he gets to the stump he died for. It tries to wrap bandaged fingers leaking inky blood around his mind tighter, his spark that shines in his chest flares and snarls at the intruder.

He just wants to sleep. Make his dad a decent dinner for maybe the first time in months. Not have a war inside his body.

He barely felt the twigs snap under his feet, body too numb from constant stimulation of changing hosts. He sluggishly blinked at the woods. His eyes are still adjusting from the moonless night, there was no sound in the vacant forest except his soft footfalls and shallow breathing. He wonders if this is another trick from the being in his mind or if he is in control of his body, regardless of the nagging pull that got him out of bed and into the woods tonight. He looked at his feet when something slithered onto his ankle.

It was a mossy vine that leads into the bushes ahead, he wonders if this is the most obvious trap in the world. He sighed and carried onward and fought the stinging pain in his head every step. He pushed the last of shrubbery away and fell to his knees with a silent cry. His mind felt like it was splitting in two. The thing in his head thrashed and snarled, it urged him to get away from damned stump, that nothing good will happen to him if he stayed here with it.

He takes his chances and crawled forward on his elbows and knees. He vehemently hopes this is the right choice. The stump is the reason he’s in this position right now. Vines and roots uproot from the ground and sneak toward him as he crawls, his body jerks and spasms as the being tries to take control.

 **_Leave it alone_ ** **,** **_boy_ ** **,** it croons in the middle of the screaming, **_you don’t want anyone getting hurt now_ ** **,** **_do you_ ** **?**

He grits his teeth and grabs for a vine and pulled himself to the nemeton.

He hopes this is just a dream.

The vines coil around his arms and nick his skin but pull him closer to the base. The druid never gave him a straight answer on how to get this thing out of his head, only gave him injections as a temporal cure. He thinks the veterinarian wants to use him as a lab subject or puppet to further put his best friend and Alpha on his side. When they learned it came from the nemeton, everyone knew there was no way everyone was getting out of this alive if it was feeding on the nemeton. The dry ground drags on his skin as he lets the stump do what it wants, he’s sure blood is caking all over his close if the way the dirt sticks to his clothes is any guess.

The stars look brighter without the moon among them. Clouds lounge in wisps and he wonders what it would be like to be high off the ground and above everyone. To liken a god.

 ** _We can be so much, little Spark, we only need a yes._** It begins again at hearing his thoughts. **_We are the same, you and I, we, you let me in before, let me in again, it is not safe_** **here** _._ He tries hard not to remember the time he opened the door. How he let this demon in without pause even with warnings. His head lightly thumps against the nemeton by then and the nogitsune screams as tendrils of white hot energy race through his body.

_Help, let us help you, like you helped us, Spark._

He isn’t sure where the voices, distorted and hundreds converted into one, different pitches unlike the nogitsune and softer, easier on his mind, came from. The roots he is in between are glowing in the cracks and the air feels heavy with power. A dripping vine curls around him and hoists him onto his back in the middle of the stump. His clothes, an old t-shirt his dad used to wear that’s a few sizes too big with holes in the bottom lining and boxers, drag, and snare on the wood.

 _Let us banish this beast where it should have been, we do not need to enter your mind, Spark. But we need your permission to exterminate the demon that threatens your life. It is all we can do to repay you for releasing us from it._ The nemeton, because of course, it’s the nemeton, coaxes in his mind. More tendrils curl around him, some slip under his clothes, some caress his skin and relax his tense form.


	6. The Pack | Stiles' Dad almost dies, the Pack offers comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore
> 
> _If you think I missed a tag, let me know._

Stiles is sure he is having an out of body experience. 

The day started out as normal as has since Scott was bitten by Peter and the Hales decided he was theirs. Their pack of three, or six if you think of the wolf separated from the human, only opened up to him. Everyone else left to be with Scott. Lydia was crushing anyone that dared to question her intelligence, Scott was wearing a goofy smile that rivaled Kira’s, Allison and Isaac kept quiet but the glancing between them was far from innocent. Erica and Boyd had no shame with Erica seated in Boyd’s lap.

They were all seated outside at one of the provided picnic tables, and Stiles could feel himself being pushed out of the pack. No one wanted to hear about Theo and how he isn’t good. Nobody wanted to hear someone being claimed a killer by a killer. They’ve never seen him do anything wrong. They never had Theo’s plans explained to them by  _ Theo _ . He gave up and left them. It’s not they notice now. He left school that day with his head in the clouds and his hand out the window, fingers wiggling in the breeze.

Hours after his dad should have been home he got a phone call that Stiles answered with shaky hands. It chilled him to his bones to hear his dad sound so weak, so sorry, _ we should have listened to you kiddo _ . His dad hung up after he told Stiles where he was and to call an ambulance.

The moment he saw his dad, the only person in this town that always put Stiles first, bleeding out on the ground with his hand outstretched to Stiles. Stiles fell to his knees next to him to grasp his bloody hand and fumbled with his phone before remembering he already called for help and wished fervently that he accepted the bite if only to drain his dad’s pain. After that, his world paused and has been paused for the past thirty minutes. Or has it been longer? Don’t trust his word on that.

When medics arrived they didn’t question him. Only helped him and his dad into the ambulance and kept his dad alive while Stiles fought to remain aware. During those minutes he cursed every god he can think of, and there is a lot, that whatever he did lead a little roach like Theo into his life as cruel and unusual punishment. Melissa was in a frenzy from the text he left her, he honestly does not remember what he sent her. It might have been along the lines of  _ My dad’s life is on the line, if he dies, I am coming for everyone  _ or  _ I hope you love my dad enough to not let him bleed out, on our way _ . Stiles almost broke Melissa wrist when she tries to call Scott. Stiles tried to plead with his eyes, his words failing him, she got the unsaid message. She was on his side on Theo situation, she knows how the pack has treated him.

“Will he be okay?” Stiles asked with hollow eyes and a trembling lower lip. His pant knees are stained with blood and his shoes are leaving blood trails behind him.

Melissa’s smile was far from friendly. “I’ll make sure of it.” She leads him to the waiting chairs, made sure he was comfortable before dashing off after his dad.

Stiles only called the three people that mattered while his dad is dying at the hospital.

Derek, who told Peter and Cora. They were leaving San Francisco when he called, halfway to Beacon Hills. Stiles managed a smile from the clear concern in Derek’s voice, they really have come far since they first met. Cora steely told him that they will be there by morning at the latest. Peter convinces him to take steady breaths and that he tell them what happened when they arrive. He’s almost positive Derek won’t give him shit for not telling him about Theo.

Almost.

Jordan, who came to the hospital minutes after Stiles hung up with the whole police force guarding the hospital, set a change of clothes next to him and rubbed his shoulder. When Jordan softly questioned where the others were Stiles merely stared at the wall as his fingers typed out the memorized number. Jordan left well enough alone and draped a blanket around his shoulders and took his spot as Stiles’ shield.

He needs to remember to thank Jordan for everything he has done for his family. The man even helps him monitor what his dad eats. Maybe a fruit basket.

And his uncle. It was the first time they talk in three years. He could hear his aunt shouting at the questioning voices farther off to pack up before they left without them. His uncle managed to talk him into lucidness and sip the water Jordan placed on the side table minutes into his phone call. He ignored the relieved smile Jordan had when Stiles started to get out his shock. His uncle stayed on the phone until he was forced to get on the plane.

“Will he behave?” Stiles croaked out. He doesn’t need the pack raising hell for this.

“He will be on his best behavior, Stiles,” His uncle assured him. Stiles weakly chuckled at the growl on the line, “You’re the reason his sight is back and his mind is restoring. He is not going to make you regret it.” Breathing came easily after that, he ended the call with an update on his dad. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. They’ll be here.

The Hales arrive an hour. By then Scott has called with accusations about how he is a killer and that Theo was right about him. That isn’t trusted in the pack and to leave them all alone. He doesn’t notice the tears clinging to his lashes. He doesn’t notice that his shoulders are shaking and his nails have cut into his skin. Doesn’t notice that he is still covered in his dad’s blood.

They do.

They always do.


	7. Stalion | Pre-3A: They meet at a club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Dub-con (dancing - from Deucalion and the club member), Stalker
> 
> _If you feel I am missing a tag, please let me know._

Stiles can’t believe his luck; both shitty and good. The good being the bouncer  _ still _ hasn’t noticed he’s the Sheriff’s son, well, that or he just hasn’t felt the need to say and or anything about Stiles being the Sheriff’s son, which, would make sense since Stiles hasn’t  _ done  _ anything to warrant getting kicked out. He even asks for the ‘X’ mark in the first place! The shitty luck being the fact that his friends, Lady Bebe and Dove had just left the Jungle and he’s being followed by some creepy old geezer for the past hour. 

Seriously.

His life, people.

Stiles snaked his way through the dancing bodies, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed in the ribs at times. Keeping the man in view he did a quick sweep around him to either find a not-so-obvious way out or someone that looks willing to help. Stiles groaned when the only person that looked like they  _ would  _ help were on the other side of the club, and turned back to face the guy and felt his heart jump into his throat.

Of fucking course. He’s gone.

_ Son of a fucking bitch. _

Stiles whipped around and scanned behind him and felt his heart skip a beat, barely ten feet away from him is the guy. And holy hell does he look like he’s got the bad touch vibes on max. He looks as if he stepped out a d-rated movie, beard uneven and unruly. His skin was clammy looking from this distance and sweaty, his beady little eyes were trained on Stiles’ body, which, eww,  _ gross. _

Stiles back up a step and ducked into the sea of people again, booking it to the guy he saw and prayed he would help. He keeps his eyes on the man with sandy blonde hair and  _ is this guy really wearing a sweater to a club _ ? Stiles stumbles and inhales sharply when he makes it to his side, resolved to not looking back to see where the creep is yet and grasps the man’s sweater with sweaty hands and holds on.

The man jerks in his grip and turns to face Stiles, his glasses are a stark contrast to his pale skin. Stiles feels his throat go dry because this man is  _ gorgeous  _ and he does  _ not _ look amused. His head tilts to the side and his lips quirk up at the corners and Stiles has the sneaking suspicion that he just said that out loud.

Stiles licked his lips and took a step closer to the guy, studiously ignoring the fact that while he’s pretty sure this man is blind he feels safe with him and looks back at where he ran from the creep. Oh look, there he is and boy does he look  _ livid. _ And he’s making his way over here. A throat clearing next to Stiles’ ear jerked his focus to the man who he’s still gripping onto. And right in the personal space of. Great first impression Stiles.

The man has an eyebrow raised and smirk raised on one side of his face.  _ At least he doesn’t look mad _ . Stiles opened his mouth to tell him why he was hanging onto him like his life depended on it, which it just might when the man looked past him and made a noise of understanding. The man’s arm wrapped it’s way Stiles’ waist and brought him closer, lips brushing his ear. The man brought his face further into Stiles’ space, pushing his nose into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles blanched when he felt and heard the sniffs the man was making next to his ear.  _ Maybe I picked the wrong guy. _

“I don’t suppose the huffing drunk is your friend by any chance?” Stiles shivered and let a faint yelp when the man swung them around to put himself between them and pushing Stiles through dancing bodies. Stiles flailed and stumbled with the squawks and hisses when he was pushed a little too hard into someone. A few chuckles slipped from the man’s mouth, Stiles glared at him all the while. When they finally stopped Stiles took a quick look around and noticed they were in view of the bar and had a few of the main doors and an emergency exit.

_ Huh. _

“I apologize for the rough treatment, but that disgrace of a human being was a little too close for my comfort.” Stiles swallowed hard when the still un-named man swept his hand around Stiles’ side and gripped his hip. He was still looking at Stiles with an upturn smirk that was turning more into a smile as time went by.

Stiles flushed and gaped but reined himself in before he could get caught up in pretty blue eyes. The man opened his mouth but shut it and pulled away from Stiles. Stiles' brows furrowed.

"Stiles!"


	8. Stiles/Multiple (Stalion, Stennis, Sterek, Steter, Stargent) | Stiles is kidnapped; everyone loses their mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Kidnapping, Dub-con, Drugging, Mental Hospital (different take on Eichen House)
> 
> _If you feel like I'm missing a tag, let me know._

Stiles works for a company that's in central Beacon Hills in a 'new age' time. I imagine the world to be a mix of the 50's and advanced technology. It starts off when Sheriff gets a call that his son has died a few days prior and they would like money for a funeral arrangement. That  _ obviously _ gives him red flags and shows up with a few deputies (not in uniform but still have their badges and guns on them) and demands to know what is going on. Why he is only  _ just now _ learning his son died. The CEO, Gerard, tells him it is company policy to keep the deaths of his workers under wraps, especially if they died on company grounds.

Sheriff gets the judges that owe him favors to sign off on all the warrants he needs to sweep the building from the tippy top and bare bottom. He is the only one that searches Stiles'  _ old _ room. He packs up all of his belongings and as he is leaving his foot catches on the rug. He goes to fix it and finds a loose floorboard underneath. Sheriff pulls out map after map, document after document, code sheet after code sheet, and more of the inner workings of the company.

Gerard stops him at the door to ask if he collected everything, eyeing the boxes Sheriff and his men are carrying out. He barely restrains himself from shooting the bastard in the head before making it out. He calls up all of Stiles’ friends and questionable partners.

They meet at Sheriff's house and fill the kitchen with all the data Stiles collected.

It turns out Stiles only accepted the job to find out what happened to Scott, the boy that dated Gerard's granddaughter. He was found dead in a ditch after a family meal with the Argents.

Stiles took over Scott's position and after months was trusted with the works of the company. They were experimenting on mental patients from a town over and using them as mindless soldiers. Some were genetically coded into a werewolf without the bite. Some were turned into beings that looked half porcupine.

Deucalion and Ennis, Stiles' known partners nearly destroyed the evidence Stiles dug up. Chris, Peter and Derek, Stiles' questionable friends had to hold them back.

Then I thought about how to play it out, Sheriff would get as much supernatural force he could, all the warrants he could get, and infiltrate  _ Argent Powers _ . Down the road, they would find Stiles on a surgery table,  _ very much alive _ , with his chest cut up like they were trying to dig for something with the doctors and nurses strewn on the ground in varying death causes. Snapped neck, blood vessels exploding, scalpels buried in skin, etc..

They bring him home, Stiles' partners refusing to leave his side. Sheriff working on destroying the rest of the Argent Organization to rubble. Along the way, Scott and Allison step forward having hidden from her grandfather after she heard him talk about killing Scott for being a True Alpha and refusing to give him the bite.

And it ends with Stiles on shaky legs putting a bullet in Gerard's head. Or something like that.


	9. Stiles/Multiple (Voiles, Stalia, Stargent, Sterek, Steter, Stalion) | Nogitsune royally fucks Stiles over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Death, Past Non-Con, Possibly Graphic
> 
> _If you feel a tag is missing, let me know._

Okay so I have this idea of Stiles getting fucked over by the nogitsune?

Like  _ royally _ getting fucked over

His spark goes out of control after getting put into a body that isn't Stiles' original one.

Stiles takes to hoarding information from Deaton's office, stealing everything he can find, copying it, and returning it the next day before the man can notice.

Last time Stiles trusted the man to research for him: he was possessed, forced to murder people, forced to  _ like _ it, even  _ love _ it, got put into a body that a was a copy of his own, watched that body turn to dust, felt his friend's death,  _ liked _ that he felt it, and now has to deal with the flinches and scared looks shared between his 'pack'. 

In that exact order.

Nobody actually notices Stiles closing off from the pack, he was already closed off to begin with.

Stiles researches and breaks into the Hale vault — he doesn't want to know how he was able to get in; most likely Peter’s doing — to get more books, and finds that the lightning marks that have started to crawl onto his skin again is his spark trying to kill the body it is in.

_ His spark is trying to help him by killing him _

He goes on to read about sparks as much as he can, feeling Peter's, Derek's, Chris', hell even Deucalion’s gaze following his every move. Turns out sparks are the highest power of law in the supernatural world. 

He is the senate of congress/house of representatives/prime minister of the supernatural. 

He leaves town with a familiar Toyota tailing him, a werecoyote in his passenger seat and sets out on finding a spark to help him. His bond with Malia has curbed some of his sparks antics, but he can feel it festering, poking around that the flesh that isn't his flesh.    
And so Stiles has a moment of clarity after hearing from Scott’s talk with Derek about mates/bonds/whatever to him and how bonding with a were — bonding with any magical being — would help prevent physical illnesses. 

He wants to punch Scott in the face for not noticing his problem but leaves it alone, Scott is the one keeping his dad at bay while Stiles cross countries.

_ Can his spark be seen as a parasite? _

So after he learns bonds help with his problem he thinks about going home before finding a spark. It was a good thing he didn't since  _ there are only 5 sparks alive _ .

They are terrifying.

He is also fucking terrified over the fact that anything he wants to happen in the world, whether it be finger gun at someone like a real gun and snapping their bones, or wishing for something to drink in the desert it will come to him in seconds. And that he needs to live since he is the only one that can outlive the others, he needs to have  _ a kid _ .

Before he can die.

So he confronts the idiots following him, bonds with them, laughs at Peter for trying to form a 'mate bond' with him. (Malia claws their eyes out.) And slowly becomes healthy again.

Attends the funerals of the other sparks he met while on the road.

Returns with a nearly healed body reverted back to before the sacrifices, made it into  _ his _ body. His spark is content and all is well.

And then he dies to save his dad.


End file.
